


Sweet-Scented Dreams

by Lady of Prompts (Aethelflaed)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Happy, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Sleep, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:06:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27547306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Lady%20of%20Prompts
Summary: Aziraphale paged idly through his book, lit by the soft yellow glow of his halo, while Crowley slept, head resting on the angel’s stomach, shock of red hair spilling everywhere. The scents of the day still clung to him, distant yet distinct, like a dream.Written for SOSH GTA 8 "Dream"
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 85
Collections: SOSH - Guess the Author #08 "dream"





	Sweet-Scented Dreams

Rain tapped gently on the windows of the cottage.

Aziraphale paged idly through his book, lit by the soft yellow glow of his halo, while Crowley slept, head resting on the angel’s stomach, shock of red hair spilling everywhere. The scents of the day still clung to him, distant yet distinct, like a dream.

The sharp bite of cologne, applied a bit too heavily every morning. Crowley said it was one of his greatest accomplishments, convincing humans to drench themselves in it when only a few drops were needed. He also insisted it made him irresistible, grabbing the angel into his arms while Aziraphale pushed him away, laughing.

The earthy smell of the garden, deep black soil rich with life. A hint of something lighter, floral. The morning glories were a good judge of character – where other plants cowered, they embraced their gardener, twining around his arms, twisting into long hair as he worked. One had still held on, nestled behind his ear, when Aziraphale brought him a drink and they sat together on the garden swing, soaking in the summer heat.

Grease and petrol, pungent and thick. Not that Crowley knew the first thing about engine maintenance, but he liked to throw open the bonnet and poke around, telling the Bentley about his day. Reprimands about the music mixed with quiet assurances of “you’re a good car, always get me where I need to be” when he thought no one could hear, when he forgot the window in Aziraphale’s study was open wide.

A dash of spices, cinnamon and cloves, from a night spent baking, arguing over the recipe, ingredients spilling, shoulders bumping, hands getting in each other’s way. A whiff of charcoal, a reminder of how the tarts had burned while they were in the other room, making up. The misshapen, overcooked, pastries were the best Aziraphale had ever tasted.

Covering it all, a faint patina of rain and dust, an evening walk cut short when the clouds broke open above them. They’d run back together, hand in hand, Aziraphale’s wing stretched to shelter them while Crowley opened the door. A dusting of chocolate, hot cocoa shared on the sofa.

An utterly mundane day, just like the one before, and the one to follow it, on and on, for as long as there was a world to enjoy.

Aziraphale smiled down as Crowley’s fingers twitched in his sleep, a flicker of a furrow running across his brow. “Ngel,” he mumbled. “Hrgkwuzzona.”

“I know, darling.” He put aside the forgotten book and slid down onto the pillow, gathering Crowley into his arms. “Better?”

“Hmmmm.” Crowley nuzzled closer, head tucking beneath Aziraphale’s chin, fingers softly grasping at tartan flannel as he drifted back to his dream.

Aziraphale breathed deeply, fingers tangled in red hair, soaking in the scents, the sound of the rain, the warm rhythm of breath across his throat.

This was it. His cottage. His home. His dream. After six thousand years, he was exactly where he belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> This work will remain anonymous until Tuesday, November 17.


End file.
